This morning I had the second session of my second week of Ashtanga. I’m waiting for my period now and I was a bit uncertain if today I could go to practice (I admit that the idea of missing Yoga because of something like this continues to truly bum me, but what to do). Anyway, it turns out that my body gave me permission to go and try to bend myself at least one more time before forcing me to rest.
It was a bit of a tough session for me, although maybe I should not be complaining. I ran much more smoothly through all my Surya Namaskara A and B; I’m finally feeling I can stretch my legs decently and lower my heels to the floor during the Adho Mukha Svanasana (the downward dog) and my jumps into Chaturanga Dandasana are also working more fluidly (maybe my arms and back are getting a bit stronger). But when I got to my final pose (well, until today), the Parivritta Trikonasana (the inverted triangle) I stumbled terribly. This truly bugs me–in principle, it is not such a difficult pose, but for some reason it totally kills my balance and has proven to be the most challenging yet; surprisingly enough. I must have looked really frustrated going on and on over it, trying to improve my form before getting into the finishing positions, so much that K (my other Teacher), came to me and added the next couple of poses, to get me moving on and off the fixation with that figure.
I was done with the whole thing in about 40 minutes. I always feel good about the practice at the end of it, but I admit that it does bug me that I’m finishing so soon–I look around at all those other more experienced yoginis twisting and twirling around me and I feel like the little boy who wants to go play with the bigger kids and he’s not allowed to, and has to content himself by watching them have fun.
Reflecting on my way home, I remembered a conversation I had not long ago with a friend who also practices Ashtanga, and is a dancer in my community. He was saying that Yoga is “a thing you do, and it doesn’t matter if you do not get better all the time” while in our dance we were “supposed to always get better and better”. While I listened to him, I believed him: I was not practicing Yoga at the moment and could imagine a situation in which yoginis couldn’t care as much about getting better as they did about going through the motions with a certain attitude, in a process that would bring them some kind of special peace or something.
Now, however, I’m not so convinced anymore. I know *I* care tremendously about getting better, about progressing, and about being able to do more. Looking at people around me and reading Yoga blogs I have come to the conclusion that others also care very much about stepping forward on this road. Improving matters a whole deal in Yoga. As much, or perhaps more than in the dance, since more is at stake. May it be that people just channel their struggle to get better differently? Or is my perception wrong? May it be that a technically imperfect Yoga still teaches much to the one who practices it?
I don’t know yet. I’m too ignorant in this regard, still trying avoid holding my breath in between asanas but to keep a deep and fluid breathing pattern as I move on. Looking for answers, I stumbled upon this insightful post by Caroline and I started seeing more clearly at least one piece of the puzzle. After this, I can see why imperfect Yoga moves can still achieve a greater goal: much of it is about breathing through the pain and learning to stay with it, recognize it and accept it.
As Caroline, I think I’ve been disconnecting and avoiding from my real pain for years in various manners and forms. Now I am at a point in which my extremely rough Ashtanga can already teach me to breath through the lack of balance, pain, humiliation and frustration of my failed simple triangles. And knowing this, I suddenly understand that yes, it is about getting better, even through my imperfect Yoga… and I already am.
